Be careful where you walk
by honeybee21799
Summary: Well, Harry Potter's dead. Possessed by Voldemort, unable to handle the strain. That's the story everyone believes anyways. He is alive, and perhaps a bit angry at being betrayed. Ah, what's a boy wonder to do? the sequel to the story: Hit the Ground Running by the user Tozette


Hi there, this is the sequel to the story: Hit the Ground Running by the user Tozette, who has given me permission to write this. I hope you enjoy it. Summary: Well, Harry Potter's dead. Possessed by Voldemort, unable to handle the strain. That's the story everyone believes anyways. He is alive, and perhaps a bit angry at being betrayed. Ah, what's a boy wonder to do?

It had been three years, from the day the Centaurs clawed him out from underground. Two years and nine months since the younger voice, Tom Riddle, had been resurrected. Two years and seven months since the day Tom Riddle changed his name to Thomas Gaunt and Harry Potter changed his name to Michel Fawley. Two years and one month since Thomas Gaunt had made his presence known, to a few select Death Eaters. They mostly accepted him as their master, finally returned to them, but others decided that he was lying and fought against him. They were all killed, and their bodies placed on display, but unrest and disloyalty remained an issue.

Tom and Michel moved into an old Fawley manor where the Malfoy's visited quite often. Michel decided against returning to Hogwarts, a decision supported wholly by Tom, and instead was home schooled by Narcissa. He was progressing greatly, and was already doing fourth year theory by the time he was thirteen and a half.

Tom disclosed to no one who Michel really was, not willing to risk the chance of Dumbledore finding out, however Michel told Draco, and after a few months of cold shouldering Draco accepted it, and the two remained friends. Tom, to this day, pretends he doesn't know.

-February 19th, 1995-

It was Michel's made up birthday, and Tom saw it fit to throw a party. The fourteen year old wizard, was uncomfortable with the many people who came to speak with him. He greeted them with a charming smile, just as Tom taught him. Kissed the ladies hands, tilted his head to the men. He was starting to get bored of the conversation of politics, but acted as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. When one person became too exuberant he would politely excuse himself, telling them he needed to speak to the other guests.

He didn't see the need for such an extravagant party when they _just _had one for Tom the 31st of December. But he didn't say anything, truth be told, if it wasn't for how many people wanted to crowed around him, he'd be having a grand time.

Tom caught his eye and waved him over. Michel sighed in relief and excused himself from having to speak with the horrid woman who was currently taking up all of his time. He walked to Tom with confidence. "Lord Gaunt." He greeted him with a dip of his head.

"Yes, Michel, I would like to introduce you to Lord Eremurus Parkinson. I believe you are the same age as his daughter?" Tom placed a hand on Harry's shoulder

"It's a pleasure to meet you my lord." He said with cool eyes, but still attempting to seem friendly.

"The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Fawley." The man said. He was tall and slender with graying black hair and a clean cut face. His brown eyes showed inelegance and power. He was sizing Michel up, deciding if he was worth attention.

"Lord Parkinson is one of the leading supporters to our cause. I would very much like it if you would get to know him." Tom gave him a meaningful look that said 'make him your ally,' and Michel would comply. Tom excused himself to speak with the Bulgarian Minister of Magic.

"So, I hear you've made _quite _the name for yourself, Mr. Fawley." The man said, looking his nose down on him.

"Ah, I only do what I must, I assure you my lord, I am not that impressive." He laughed softly, as if Parkinson was making a joke.

"Well, _Our Lord_, seems to think much of you." The way he stressed 'Our Lord' was as if he was speaking of the second coming of Merlin himself. Michel concluded that he was one of the few to be trusted amongst Tom's ranks.

"Yes, I suppose so." Michel flicked back his long, straight, black bangs out of his face, and fixed his eyes intently on him. "Were you invited to the after party?" He asked simply.

"I was. I assume, you'll be there as well?" He confirmed. Michel nodded, and soon after the two parted ways.

Michel stepped off the floor when a dance started, and couples swayed with the music. He unconsciously brushed his fingers across his hidden scar when he felt Tom's annoyance. Michel looked for him, and had to hold in his laughter, upon seeing that he was dancing with Undersecretary Umbrige in all her bright pink glory. Tom looked over at him and glared. Hard.

Michel excused himself to the dinning tables and sat alone. He didn't want to talk to anyone for awhile, it was becoming overwhelming. He looked up in surprise when he caught sight of Sullivan Nott, Theodore's father. He was an old man, almost seventy years. He had fought alongside Tom during the first war. When Tom had made his first appearance to his followers, he had been one of the people to recognize him right away, seeing as they went to school together. He was another of the few who could be trusted. It was strange though, that he was making an appearance at such a public event. He didn't often, he wondered if maybe he should feel honored. He watched the man from across the room, _flirt _with Narcissa Malfoy.

She seemed to be amused by the old man, if not a little irritated. He decided to save the poor woman, who had helped him so much. Approaching her, he bowed low, and held out his hand. "Lady Malfoy, may I please, have this dance?" He smirked when she placed her hand in his. He led her slowly to the dance floor.

A simple waltz, something every boy his age was expected to know. "How is your family, Lady Malfoy."  
>"Very well, thank you, Mr. Fawley." She said as they turned.<p>

"I trust Draco's doing well in his schooling?" He asked, trying to be polite.

"Yes, very well, he's almost at the top of his year." She said proudly.

"Well, then please give him my congratulations." He smiled up at her, and then chuckled lightly, when looking behind her shoulder.

"May I ask why you're laughing?" She asked, with a raised eyebrow.

"Poor Severus seems to have a fan." He spun her around so she could see the fussy woman _fawning _over the annoyed potions master. She let out her own laugh.

"Will you be saving him tonight, as you did me?" She asked.

"No, let him wallow in his misery." The dance came to an end and the two bowed to one another. She walked off to join her husband, who was speaking with a few ministry workers and business men.

Tom hunted him down and ordered him to make his way to the meeting room. When he was sure that no one was looking he ducked into the backroom. One by one, Tom's minions filed in, five minuets after the other. Then last, Tom walked into the room. Radiating power, commanding respect, inspiring fear. He walked to the front and slowly sat in his throne.

"Friends, I'm so glad you could be with me today, to celebrate Mr. Fawley's birthday." He began, opening his arms wide to address the room. A few nodded, some wished him happy birthday, most stayed silent. "We have a few matters to address tonight, beginning with, Lucius. How goes the negotiations with the Ministers of France, Ireland, and Russia?" He asked, leaning his head against the palm of his right hand.

The blond aristocrat stepped forwards and bowed to his master. "Ireland has decided that they will remain neutral until the issues in their own country are settled. France remains with the light. However Russia has agreed to lend their full support. We expect Belarus and Belgium to fallow after them." He said all of this, without pausing to take in air. Tom looked annoyed at first, then satisfied.

"Kill the French minister and his family, then ask again. Let's hope for their sake they do not deny us." He ordered. The Malfoy patriarch nodded and receded back into line.

"Parkinson? Tell me about your progress in recruiting." He ordered.

The man pulled a very large stack of documents out of his coat pocket (thank Merlin for expansion charms). "Very well indeed My Lord." He said, handing them to Tom.

"What is this?" He asked, flipping through them.

"The name, address, and closest family members of every last person who has agreed to join your cause. A magically binding contract that states if they betray you then the people they wrote down will die, then a few days after so will they." He looked proud of himself. He cast a look at Lucius that seemed rather mocking. "There are two thousand one hundred three and twenty seven people who have signed them from all over the word. That's more then two thirds of wizarding Britain."

Tom grinned wildly at him. "Very good work indeed, you will be rewarded generously." The man thanked him and stepped back into line. Tom looked around the room, until his eyes landed on Michel. He gestured for the fourteen year old to come closer.

"Most of you by now, must have met Mr. Michel Fawley, I'm sure." He stood and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Well then my friends, I would like to formally introduce you to him." He stood up and put both of his hands on Michel's shoulders, standing behind him.

"One day, I'm going to be king, and every king needs an heir. Meet him, the heir to my legacy, your prince of darkness." He smirked at the murmurs ringing around the room. Then row by row they all kneeled down on one knee. Many seemed agitated, or uncomfortable, but no one vocalized their complaints.

"I didn't appreciate that." Michel said, after everyone had left. Tom fixed him with an amused stair and rolled his eyes.

"You don't much appreciate anything do you?" He opened the next page in his news paper.

"You could have warned me, I was completely unprepared." Michel argued, sitting in the chair across from Tom.

The Dark Lord looked at him, but expressed no apology. "You did fine, no one said anything about you acting poorly."

"Because you would have cursed them." He said in indignation.

"Be that as it may, I could hear the way some of them spoke about you. You're a new challenge, learn to command their respect." The man turned away from him and opened his paper once more, content to ignore his ward.

"But what if-"

"Go to bed, there is no cause for worry." Tom ordered him sternly. Michel sighed in defeat and walked out of the room in annoyance.

Rounding a corner, he saw two of Tom's men talking in the hall. They stopped immediately when they saw him and bowed low, with mutterings of 'your grace' and 'young master.' Michel rolled his eyes and walked past them. He entered into his room and flopped down on the bed. He didn't feel ready for that. He wasn't. He couldn't. How in Merlin's name was he going to 'command the respect' of Tom's followers? With and un-easy mind he fell asleep, mercifully he had no dreams that night.


End file.
